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The Changed Valentines 

And Other Plays for St. Valentine's Day 



By 
ELIZABETH F. GUPTILL 

Author of "A Troublesome Flock" "Little Acts 
for Little Actors" etc. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

191S 






The Changed Valentines 
And Other Plays 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Changed Valentines, 3 males, 4 females ... 3 
A Romance of St. Valentine's Day, i male, 2 females . 25 
The Queen of Hearts, ii males, 13 females . . . 45 




Copyright, 191 7, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 
TMP96-UG7G74 ©ci.D 48566 



The Changed Valentines 

In Two Acts 



The Changed Valentines 



CHARACTERS 



[ his older sisters. 



Bobby, the small boy of the family. 

Evelyn 

Helen 

Louise, his younger sister. 

Mrs. Winston, his mother. 

Bert, his older brother. 

Mr. Bertram Elliott, his bachelor uncle. 



ACT I 

SCENE. — The setting is the same for both Acts — a liv- 
ing-room or library. 

(As the curtain rises Bert is sitting at a desk, evidently 
just finishing a letter or note.) 

Bert. There ! I'll just tuck it in here with the 
valentine, and let her get both together. (Does so, and 
directs envelope.) Miss Eloise V. Worthington ! A 
pretty name, and a stately one, but somehow I like 
Winston better. I wonder if she will? 

(Finishes addressing it, and sits looking at it.) 

Enter Bobby, in a hurry. 

Bobby. Bert! Frank's out here in his brother's 
buzzcart, and wants to see you. He says you can ride 
up-town if you'll get a move on. 

5 



6 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Bert. I will that. 

(Steps out, comes back through, putting on his coat.) 

Bobby (with a grin). Going bare-headed? 
Bert (putting hand to head). Why, I thought I put 
it on ! Run and get it, kid. 

(Exit Bobby. Bert paws around on table, upsetting 
everything. ) 

Bobby. Here's your lid. 

Bert. Thanks. Where in the name of common 
sense are my gloves? I put them here for Mother to 
mend, last night. 

Bobby. They're sticking out of your pocket. 

Bert. So they are. So long, kid. 

(Hurries out, forgetting valentine. Bobby spies it and 
picks it up.) 

Bobby. Gee ! It's a valentine for Eloise. Bet it ain't 
as pretty as the one I bought. There won't no silly girl 
get it, either. I wonder 

(He starts to take it out of envelope, hears some one 
coming, and runs out, dropping it. There should be 
a curtain, apparently separating two rooms, and be- 
hind this Bobby hides.) 

Enter Uncle Bertram ; goes to desk. 

Uncle B. (addressing his envelope). Well, well! 
That's the fortieth valentine I've sent Ellen. I sent the 
first, I remember, when I was a three-year-old, in kilts, 
and she a baby in little white dresses and blue shoes. Ha, 
hum! Such is life! Here we are, both middle-aged 
people, though blest if I feel so! If she'd only answered 
that twentieth one, I might not have been sending the 
fortieth. I wonder (He toys with letter.) 

Mrs. Winston (looking in). Oh, here you are, Ber- 
tram. You're wanted on the 'phone. 

Uncle B. (rising). I'll be right there. 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 7 

(He hurries out, and Bobby hurries in, and picks up 
the dropped letter.) 

Bobby (going to desk). Gee! I've thought of the 
best joke ! This ain't sealed, either. I'm a-going to 
change 'em. Thirty-nine valentines are enough for one 
lady to get from the same man, anybody'd know ! 
(Makes the change, and seals both letters.) There! I 
guess a " change'll be a difference," as Aunt Emily says, 
and Eloise oughtn't to care. This one's from Bert, too. 
Didn't know Uncle Bertram ever signed his name Bert. 
Jumping frogs ! He's coming ! 

(Hides again, Bert's letter in his hand. His uncle 
takes the letter, and sees it is sealed.) 

Uncle B. Funny! I thought I hadn't sealed that. 
Getting absent-minded, I guess. 

(Puts it in pocket, and goes out, whistling.) 

Enter Evelyn and Helen. Both start toward desk. 
Helen reaches it first. 

Evelyn. Oh, dear, Helen, won't you let me have the 
desk a minute? I just want to address a letter. 

Helen. So do I, and I'm in an awful rush. 

Evelyn. What is it? A valentine? 

Helen. Is yours? 

Evelyn. Well, why don't you address it, or else let 
me have the desk ? 

Helen (rising). You may have it, Evvie. I'll wait. 
(Evelyn seats herself, toys with pen.) Well, why don't 
you do it, if you're in such a rush? (Evelyn laughs.) 

Evelyn. For the same reason you don't, I guess. 
Here ! (Hands her a fountain pen.) You can do yours 
on the table. Then we won't bother each other. 

Helen. I'll let you see who mine is addressed to, if 
you will, too. 

Evelyn. No, thanks. (Both hesitate, laugh, and 
Helen takes hers to table. Both write hastily. A crash 
is heard, followed by a loud scream, and both girls rush 
out. Bobby comes out of his hiding-place, and changes 



8 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

valentines swiftly, sealing both, then darts back as he 
hears girls coming. They enter. ) Katy will scare us to 
death some day. Did you ever see any one who could 
get so many tumbles? 

Helen. Or smash so many dishes ? No, I never did. 
(Takes up valentine.) Why, I don't remember sealing 
this. 

Evelyn. Nor I mine. I suppose the — the Irish 
earthquake in an American kitchen put it out of our 
heads. Want me to mail your letter? I'm going out. 

Helen. No, thanks. I'm going out, too, and this 
envelope is private property. 

Evelyn. H'm ! I could make a pretty good guess as 
to the name on the outside. It's " Pet," of course. 

Helen. Really, it's mean to call Phil that. He hates 
it so ! 

Evelyn. Then his mamma shouldn't have named him 
Philip Etheridge, when she knew his last name must al- 
ways be Tuttle. Then he is such a pet. I always want 
to see a big lawn bonnet on those golden curls of his, and 
see his dear little self in ruffled white dresses, with short 
socks and blue slippers. Of course the little darling 
wants a valentine! But I should think he'd make you 
tired ! 

Helen. He's lots nicer than that homely Jack Hamil- 
ton. All he thinks of is baseball. 

Evelyn. Well, he isn't soft and sentimental, and — 
mushy like Pet. I don't care to lead a nice little poodle- 
dog around by a blue ribbon. 

Helen. You'd prefer a bulldog? 

Evelyn. I certainly should. Coming out to mail your 
precious epistle? 

Helen. I am. 

Evelyn. Come on, then. (Both pass out.) 

Bobby (coming forth again). Now maybe I'll have a 
chance. No, here conies Lou ! 

(Dives out of sight again.) 

Louise (entering). I saw you, Bobby Winston! 
What you hiding for? 

Bobby (stepping out). I ain't hiding. 



TH£ CHANGED VALENTINES 9 

Louise. Well, you were. Thought you could jump 
out and scare some one, I s'pose. 

Bobby (as she seats herself at desk). Who you writ- 
ing to? 

Louise. Nobody. I'm sending valentines. 

Bobby. Valentines? More than one? Helen and 
Evvie"only sent one apiece, and I'm going to send one. 

Louise. Oh, Bobby, who to ? 

Bobby. That ain't good grammar. 

Louise. And that is, I s'pose. H'm ! 

(She takes two envelopes and tucks in valentines, and 
seals them.) 

Bobby. Who you sending 'em to, Lou ? 

Louise. I shan't tell. Go 'way, Bobby, so's I can 
get 'em done. 

Bobby. Tell me who they're going to ? 

Louise. No siree ! 

Bobby. I'll give you my glass agate if you will, 
Louie. 

Louise. What you want to know for? To tell some- 
body, and get me laughed at? 

Bobby. No, I won't tell, honest Injun ! 

Louise. Well, the pretty one goes to Reginald, and 
the homely one goes to Freddie, 'cause I'm mad on him ! 

Bobby. What you mad at Freddie for ? 

Louise. 'Cause he said Valentine's Day was silly, and 
he shouldn't send one. 

Bobby. Ho, ho ! And you wanted him to send you 
one ! 

Louise. No such thing! He can keep his old valen- 
tines, if he wants to. I'm going to send a lovely one to 
Reginald. He's got sense enough to 'predate it, maybe. 
And I got a horrid comic one of a miser, all ragged and 
thin, gnawing a bare bone, like a dog, with his money all 
piled up around him. 

Bobby. Mamma doesn't like us to send comic ones. 

Louise. Don't you tell, Bobby Winston ! 

Bobby. What'll you give me not to? My aggie back 
again ? 



10 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Louise. I haven't got it yet to give back again. Yes, 
keep it if you want to, but don't tell. If you do, I'll never 
tell you anything again, so there, now ! 

Bobby. Well, I won't, but Mamma wouldn't like it. 
You know she wouldn't. 

Louise. Maybe she wouldn't like all you've been up 
to, either, Sir Robert. 

Bobby. What you know about what I've been up to? 

Louise. Oh, you have! You have been up to some 
mischief ! Now if you tell, I will. 

Bobby. You can't, for you don't know it to tell, 
smarty. Say, Lou, let's see the funny one. 

Louise. It isn't funny. It's just horrid, and I meant 
it to be. Besides, they're sealed now. Keep still while 
I direct them. (She writes. Bobby gets behind her, and 
shows wild enjoyment. Louise rises.) There! Now 
I'll go mail 'em. Have you sent airy, Bobby? 

Bobby. Not me. I've got too many sisters to want 
to send valentines to girls. (Louise goes out. Bobby 
seats himself at desk.) See if I can get mine sent some 
time to-day. (Writes.) I suppose I'd better mail the 
one Bert forgot. Gee ! But wasn't it good ! Louise 
mixed up her own, and she's sent the pretty one to Fred, 
and the other to Reginald. Good one on her ! It seems 
to be catching. I'll go out and mail mine before anything 
happens to it. It's a poor day for valentines. Sort of 
mixy, somehow. Six of 'em, all going wrong! Gee! 
Mine's the lucky seventh. Wish I was a bumblebee, and 
could follow some of 'em. Wouldn't it be fun ! Well, 
Papa says a boy ought to be a good mixer. Guess I'm 
all right. (Goes to door, and calls.) Mamma! 

Mrs. W. (outside). Whatis it, Bobby? 

Bobby (as she enters). Here's a letter Bert left on 
the desk, all addressed and sealed. Shall I mail it ? 

Mrs. W. Certainly. Let me see it, Bobby. ( Takes 
it, and reads.) It's for Eloise. A valentine, probably. 
Mail it by all means, dear. 

(Bobby runs out. Mrs. W. tidies up the room a bit, 
and then also passes out.) 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same room as before. Evening of same day. 

(Mrs. Winston is seated, with sewing. Bobby runs 
in. ) 

Mrs. W. What do you think I got in the mail to-day, 
Bobby? 

Bobby. The paper, probably. 

Mrs. W. Yes, but something more. 

Bobby. A letter. 

Mrs. W. Something better and more precious still. 

Bobby. What was it? 

Mrs. W. A valentine — such a pretty one ! Why, I 
haven't had a valentine for years ! 

Bobby. Did you like it? 

Mrs. W. I certainly did, very much. If I only knew 
who sent it, I should — kiss him, I think. 

Bobby. You mightn't want to. 

Mrs. W. I'm sure I should want to, for, you see, I 
knew the writing on the outside. 

Bobby. You did? 

Mrs. W. Yes indeed. Thank you so much, dear. 
It was very nice to receive a valentine once more. 

Bobby. Don't ladies get valentines? 

Mrs. W. Not usually after they are my age, dear. 

Bobby. But Miss Col well does, and I heard you say 
once that you had the same birthday. 

Mrs. W. So we have, dear, but what makes you think 
she gets valentines ? 

Bobby. I know she does. Uncle Bertram sent her 
one this morning, and he said it was the fortieth. 

Mrs. W. Uncle Bertram ? Did he tell you that, 
Bobby? 

Bobby. N-no, not exactly; but he said it, Mamma. 
He did, really. 

Mrs. W. To whom, then, if not to you ? How did 
you come to hear it? 

II 



12 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Bobby. He said it to himself, when he was directing 
it this morning. 

Mrs. W. Did he know you were there ? 

Bobby. N-no. I wasn't there, exactly. 

Mrs. W. Then where were you ? 

Bobby. I was — in there. (Points.) 

Mrs. W. Bobby ! You weren't listening ? 

Bobby. Well, I couldn't help hearing, could I ? 

Mrs. W. Here comes Louise. Don't mention what 
you have told me, Bobby. Not to any one. Remember. 

Bobby (as Louise enters). Yes'm, I won't. Hi, 
Louie ! How many valentines did you get ? 

Louise. Eight. Want to see 'em? 

Bobby. Sure I do. Come on over and show 'em to 
Mamma. 

(Louise passes to side of her mother's chair; Bobby 
stands at other side, and they look at the valentines.) 

Louise (showing them). Bert sent this one, and 
Uncle Bertram sent this one, and Grandpa sent this one, 
and Harold sent this one, and Leon sent this one, and Ed- 
win sent this one, and Reginald sent this one. 

(She says this slowly, showing them, and Mrs. W. and 
Bobby make comments on how pretty they are, etc.) 

Bobby. Gee! That's a beaut of Reginald's. Bet 
you're glad you sent him one. 

Louise. No, I'm not. He bought one for every girl 
in our class — every single girl ! He likes to show off how 
much pocket money he has. 

Mrs. W. It's a very pretty valentine, Louise. 

Louise (showing last one). I like this better. Fred- 
die made it all himself, and it's the only one he sent. 

Bobby. Tis pretty, but it isn't nearly so swell as 
Reggie's. Besides, I thought Freddie wasn't going to 
send any. 

Louise. He said he wasn't going to buy anv, and he 
didn't. 

Bobby. Gee ! And you sent him 

Louise. I didn't either, Bobby Winston. I got those 
envelopes mixed, and sent him the nice one. 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 13 

Bobby. And you sent the other to Reg? Kinder 
tough, when he'd treated the whole grade to valentines. 

Mrs. W. I hope my little daughter didn't send a comic 
valentine to any one. 

Louise. I did, Mamma, but I shan't again. I should 
have been so ashamed if Freddie had got it, when he 
made me such a pretty one. 

Mrs. W. But how about Reginald? 

Louise. Oh, Reggie didn't care a bit. He never got 
a comic one before, and he thought it was funny. He 
never guessed one of us girls sent it, and you see, it was 
a miser, and Reggie isn't a bit, you know, so it didn't 
touch him at all, but 

Enter Evelyn and Helen, evidently rather " huffy." 

Helen. Well, you got some, didn't you, kiddo? 

Bobby. I should say she did! Eight of 'em! How 
many'd you get, Helen ? 

Helen. Oh, five or six. What a foolish day it is! 
Worse than April first ! 

Louise. I think it's lovely. Don't you, Evvie? 

Evelyn (shortly). No. 

Bobby. Looks as if you two had a grouch. What's 
up? 

Evelyn. Nothing. 

Helen (scornfully). Nothing! 

Evelyn. Oh, dry up, do ! Let your face rest a while. 

Mrs. W. Evelyn ! What sort of talk is that ? 

Evelyn. Well, I'm sick of her nagging ! And every- 
thing's gone wrong to-day. 

LIelen. I don't see as anything went wrong with you. 

Evelyn. I suppose you wouldn't call it so, but why 
any one should want that simp of a Pet hanging round 
her, I don't know. 

Helen. Then why did you have him? 

Evelyn. How could I help it? He doesn't know 
enough to see when he's turned down. I did everything 
but slap his pretty face for him, but nothing would pene- 
trate that rhinoceros hide of self-esteem. Bah ! He 
makes me sick ! 



14 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Helen. You looked like it. I saw how earnestly you 
were talking to him. 

Evelyn. I certainly was. 

Bobby. Gee ! Evvie's stole Helen's beau, and Helen's 
mad! 

Helen. No such thing. 

Mrs. W. That will do, Bobby. I have never seen any 
signs of Evelyn's fancying Philip. He isn't her style. 

Evelyn. No, he isn't. I detest sissy boys, and always 
did. Helen can have him and welcome. 

Helen. Then why did you send him a valentine ? No 
wonder you wouldn't show me the address ! 

Evelyn. It wasn't to him. 

Helen (hotly). You're 

Mrs. W. (interrupting sharply). Helen! I hope 
neither of my girls is going to forget that she is a lady. 

Helen. Well, she did send him one. 

Evelyn. I did not ! 

Helen. I heard him thank you for it in two lines of 
poetry. 

Evelyn. And if you'd played eavesdropper a little 
longer, you'd have heard me absolutely deny it. I told 
him I only sent one, and that not to him, and advised him 
to talk to the one to whom he sent the volume of poetry 
and the white roses. 

Helen. And he said you were the prettiest. I hate 
you both, so there ! 

(Throws herself into a chair, and begins to cry.) 

Evelyn. Truly, Helen 



Helen. Don't talk to me. I saw the address on the 
envelope, and so did Freda and Myrtle, and we all recog- 
nized your writing. No other girl in school makes a P 
like yours. 

Evelyn. It was a very good imitation, I'll admit. 
The work, no doubt, of some one who thought it a very 
good joke to play on me. Just wait till I see Mr. Jack 
Hamilton, that's all. It was a neat little stroke of busi- 
ness to be out of town to-day. I could shake him with 
a will. 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 1 5 

Mrs. W. But why should a valentine make such a 
disturbance? It's just boy and girl fun at your age. 

Bobby. Helen don't think so. She's awful spoony on 
Mr. Philip Etheridge Tuttle. 

Mrs. W. That will do, Bobby. Don't be vulgar. 

Louise. Well, he always walks to the corner with her, 
and to-night he didn't. He came with Evvie. 

Bobby. Came after her, you mean, trotting behind 
like a little poodle-dog whose missis goes too fast for him, 
and she and Helen have been fighting ever since. 

Helen. Well, she knew he liked me, and she's always 
pretended not to like him, and he's always thought she 
was pretty, and so, when she sent him the valentine 

Evelyn. When she sent him nothing ! If he tags me 
to-morrow I'll tie a blue ribbon on his neck, and hitch it 
to a little chain, and lead him round like a nice little toy 
dog. You see if I don't ! 

Helen. Just to show every girl in the school that 
you've captured him ! Well, I'll see that they know how 
you did it. 

Evelyn. I'm about tired of being told I — twist the 
truth. 

Helen. I'd say it stronger, if Mother'd let me. You 
may think it, instead. I saw you address that envelope 
this morning, and you refused to let me see the name — 
you know you did ! 

Evelyn. Well, so did you. What was the matter 
with the one you sent him, I wonder ? 

Helen. I wish I'd never sent it. All I've got from 
him to-day at school is a nod and a stare. He's mad 
about something, and you're to blame. 

Mrs. W. How about the roses and the book? 

Helen. Well — he sent them before he got Evvie's 
valentine. 

Evelyn. I never sent him any ! 

Mrs. W. That will do, girls, both of you. Helen, if 
things have gone to this point I am glad I have found it 
out in time. I knew he was a rather sentimental boy, but 
I thought him harmless as an associate, and he was poor 
Fanny's boy, so I have encouraged his coming here — hav- 
ing no mother. But this 



l6 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Evelyn. Oh, Helen isn't quite as foolish as she seems, 
Mamma. She's just jealous because, he thinks me pretty. 
As if I cared what he thought ! 

Helen (sneeringly) . Yes, as if you did! 

Mrs. W. Here's Bert coming. If you don't want to 
hear of this foolish quarrel for the next six weeks, you'd 
better stop it. Bobby and Louise, not a word about it. 
Remember now. 

Enter Bert. 

Bert. Good-evening, every one. What's the matter, 
Helen? (Throws himself into seat.) 

Helen. Nothing. What's the matter with you? 
You look glum as an oyster. 

Mrs. W. Didn't things go well at the office to-day, 
Bert? 

Bert. Oh, yes, about the same as usual. 

Louise (going up to him, and smoothing his hair). 
Was somebody mean to you, Bertie ? 

Bert (taking her on his knee). Just a bit, maybe, 
little sister. See here! (He takes a dime from his 
pocket.) If I gave you this what would you do with it? 

Louise. I'd buy a little dolly at the ten-cent store. 

Bobby. A dolly! Gee whiz! I'll bet you've got 
twenty now. 

Louise. But we girls, seven of us, are going to have 
a sewing society, and we're going to buy some little dolls, 
and make a whole outfit for them, and 

Bobby. Pretty outfit it'll be, I guess. You can't sew. 

Louise. I can, too, a little, and besides, Eloise is go- 
ing to show us how. 

Bobby. Oh, it's her get up, is it? Then Bert'll give 
you the ten-cent piece, sure. 

(Bert does so, and she hugs and kisses him.) 

Louise. You're just the dearest big brother! But 
what makes you look so sober ? Does your head ache ? 

Bert. A little, I guess. Perhaps, if you smooth it, it 
will make it better. (She proceeds to do so.) 

Bobby. Got any more of those little shiny fellers that 
you want to give away, Bert ? 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 1 7 

Bert (icasingly). Why, let me see Why, 

what's come over Uncle Bertram? Never heard him 
come in like a college boy before. (Enter Uncle Ber- 
tram. He goes straight to Bert, and shakes his hand 
heartily.) Glad to see you, Uncle, truly; but why pick 
me out for this particular grip? 

Uncle B. Because you've done me the greatest pos- 
sible favor. I shall owe my happiness the rest of my life 
to you, Bert. 

Bert. To me? Say, Uncle, is it a joke, or have you 
gone nutty, or what? I haven't seen you since morning. 

Uncle B. No, I know it, but you've done a great 
thing for me, just the same. I'm — I'm going to be mar- 
ried. 

All (together). Why, Bertram! Oh, Uncle Ber- 
tram ! Who to ? Why/Uncle ! 

Bert. Glad to hear it, I'm sure, but I don't see what 
I had to do with it. I didn't propose to the lady for you, 
I'm sure. 

Uncle B. That's just what you did, boy, though you 
didn't know it. 'And she wore the white rose, all right. 

Bert. Oh, she did? Well, I don't know how you 
came to know of it, but if Eloise wants to marry a man 
twice her age because he has a little money, she's wel- 
come, for all me. I — I congratulate you, Uncle Bertram. 

Uncle B. Good grit, boy, though it isn't true, one 
bit of it. 

Bobby. What isn't? Aren't you going to be married? 

Uncle B. I certainly am, and so is Eloise, I fancy; 
but not together. I'm to marry Miss Ellen Colwell, my 
boy. 

Mrs. W. Ellen ? After all these years ? 

Bert. Not Eloise? But the rose? 

Evelyn. And how did Bert propose for you, when he 
didn't know anything about it ? 

Helen. Do keep still, everybody, and let Uncle Ber- 
tram tell it. It sounds awfully mixed up to me. 

Bert. Yes, explain, do, Uncle. You've got me guess- 
ing for fair. 

Uncle B. Well, you see, to really explain, I'd have 
to go back twenty years. 



1 8 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Helen. Oh, do, Uncle. It sounds so romantic. 

Uncle B. Romantic ! Idiotic ! That's what it was ! 
Well, you see, when I was a youngster only three years 
old, Dr. Colwell came to town to practice, and bought the 
home where Miss Ellen lives now. We lived on the same 
street then, and Mother took me with her when she went 
to call, and I fell in love with her on the spot. 

Bobby. With your mother, or the doctor? 

Uncle B. With the doctor's baby, little Ellen. She 
was a bit of a thing, with a white dress and a blue sash, 
and blue shoes, and she had big blue eyes that just 
matched, and little soft, yellow curls, and she called me 
" Boy." It was the first word she had ever tried to say, 
her mother told me. 

Louise. Miss Ellen's hair is brown. 

Uncle B. So it is, Louie, but it used to be yellow. 
Well, from that day on we were playmates, and I sent 
her a valentine that year. In fact, I have every year. I 
sent my fortieth this morning. 

Bert. But I don't see 

Uncle B. Hold on, Namesake. Wait a bit, and you 
will. Twenty years ago I sent one in which, in the best 
verses I knew how to make, I asked her a question — the 
question; and I asked her, if the answer was yes, to wear 
a white rose in her hair, and to sit in the bay window as I 
went home that night. 

Bert. Why 

Uncle B. Yes, I know, my boy. We're much alike, 
and history repeats itself. If it hadn't — well, to go on, 
she didn't do it, although I had had some white roses 
delivered there that afternoon. It seems now that she 
didn't get the valentine at all. It went astray somehow. 
She thought I had forgotten, and didn't care, and I 
thought the answer was " no," and it made a difference 
in our friendship. Though we have been friends, the 
old intimacy was gone — and — well, we've lost twenty 
years. 

Mrs. W. Oh, brother! 

Uncle B. We're going to make them up, Eva, don't 
you forget it. Well, to-day I sent my fortieth valentine, 
and the same thing happened. It went astray. At least 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 1Q 

she hasn't got it yet. (Bobby giyes a start, and claps his 
hand to his pocket, but no one seems to notice. Uncle 
B. goes on.) She did get one, though, in rhyme, which, 
strange to say, asked her the selfsame thing. Don't blush, 
my boy ! And as she always gets a box of white roses on 
this particular day, when I came home to-night there she 
sat, in the bay window, with a white rose in her hair ! I 
couldn't believe my eyes, but I went in, and it's all right. 
We're to be married in six weeks, and I've you to thank, 
my boy, and when you and' Eloise are married, you'll get 
a check for one thousand dollars for a wedding present. 

Bert. But I don't see how she came to get my letter, 
and I should have thought she would have known it 
wasn't hers. 

Uncle B. Why, you called her Ellie — my old pet 
name for her, as well as yours for Eloise, it seems, and 
you signed it Bert, which every one alw r ays called me till 
I had a namesake nephew. 

Bert. But I directed mine all right, and — no, I didn't 
mail it, I do believe. I went off in a rush with Frank, 
and left it on the desk. 

Mrs. W. And Bobby found it there, and I told him to 
mail it. 

Bert. And did you mail it, Bobby ? 

Bobby. Why 

Evelyn. lie didn't ! He forgot it. I saw him start 
just now, and clap his hand to his pocket. I bet it's there 
now. 

Bobby. No, sir. 

Uncle B. Can't be, because Ellen got it. 

Bert (rising, and grasping Bobby, who is trying to 
sneak away). Come here, my beloved little brother. 
Let's see what you have in your pocket. 



(He seats himself, Bobby between his knees, and pro- 
ceeds to go through his pockets, in spite of his en- 
deavors to get away.) 

Bobby. You let me go. 

Bert. Directly, my dear brother, directly. Ah, here 



10 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

we are ! (He takes letter from Bobby's pocket.) That's 
my letter, sure. Now, young man, why didn't you mail 
it? 

Bobby. I meant to, truly. But I forgot. 

Evelyn. Let Uncle Bertram open it, Bert. I'll bet a 
box of candy his valentine is inside. There have been 
queer doings with valentines to-day, and I believe Bobby's 
at the bottom of the whole thing. Hold him tight while 
I investigate, or rather while we all do. Open that, 
Uncle Bert. 

Bert (passing it). Yes, do, Uncle Bert. My letter 
isn't inside, that's sure, since Miss Ellen got it. No, no, 
Sir Robert, stay right here. Your elder brother is very 
fond of your company just now. 

Bobby. Let go ! You're twisting my arm ! 

Bert. I won't hurt as long as you don't try to get 
away, but here you've got to stay just now. How about 
it, Uncle? 

Uncle B. (who has opened letter and looked inside). 
It's mine, all right, boy. (To Bobby.) Now, young 
man, how about it? Who changed them around, and 
when? 

Bobby. How should I know? I found this on the 
desk and asked Mamma if I should mail it, and she said 
yes, and then I forgot to, that's all. 

Bert. But how came Uncle Bertram's letter in this 
envelope ? 

Bobby. How should I know ? Stop that ! Mamma, 
he's hurting me. 

Mrs. W. Yes? Well, I should advise him to keep on 
doing so till he gets to the bottom of the mystery. 

Helen. Yes, make him tell. I'll bet he did it. 

Evelyn. Might as well own up, Bobby. You'll have 
to in the end. 

Louise. There wasn't any letter on the desk when I 
wrote mine. Oh, Bobby, did you change mine? If you 
did, I'm glad, Bobby, truly I am. 

Bobby. I didn't though, truly, Lou. You did it your- 
self. I knew it, though, but I thought I'd keep still. I 
wanted to find out if Reggie Westcott could get mad. 
He's such a girlie boy ! 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 11 

Louise. Well, he didn't. But I'm glad Freddie didn't 
get it. I'm glad they got mixed. 

Uncle B. So am I, girlie. 'Twas a good mix up for 
me, but I'm sure other hands tampered with mine. 

Bert. And mine. Now, young man, how about it ? 

Bobby. About what? 

Bert (taking him across knee). About this. 

( Gives him a spank. ) 

Bobby. Ow ! You hurt. 

Bert. Good. I'm going to make each one a little 
harder than the last. Will you tell me how and when 
you changed those letters? No answer? Very well. 

(Spanks again.) 

Bobby. Mamma, make him stop. 

Mrs. W. Not until you tell the truth about it, Bobby. 
A joke is a joke, but a lie is a lie, and I'm certain you do 
know. Answer truly, now. Don't you? 

Bert (spanking again). Answer your mother, young 
man. 

Bobby. Gee ! How can I answer when you're hurt- 
ing me ? 

Bert (standing him between knees again). Now I'm 
not hurting you. Answer Mother. 

Bobby. Answer what? Oh, don't take me that way 
again. I'll answer. Yes, Mamma, I do know. I only 
did it for fun. Bert left his when he went off in a hurry, 
and I was going to look at it 

Bert. Well, that's cool. 

Bobby. I just wanted to see if it was as pretty as the 
one I had for Mamma, and Uncle Bert came in quick, 
and I didn't want him to catch me looking at it, so I 
dodged behind the portiere. And he talked out loud to 
himself, and said it was the fortieth one he'd sent her, 
and I just thought thirty-nine was enough to get from 
one man, and I wished I could get a chance to change 
'em, just for fun, so when Uncle Bert was called to the 
'phone 

Uncle B. So that's when you did it! I thought I 
hadn't sealed that envelope ! 



22 THE CHANGED VALENTINES 

Bobby. So I slipped yours out, and Bert's in, and 
sealed it, and dodged back. Then I fixed the other back 
there. They weren't valentines, though, either of 'em — ■ 
just poetry, with a fancy border, but both of 'em begun 
" Dearest Ellie," and ended " Yours forever, Bert," so I 
don't see why one wasn't as good as the other. Bert's 
was the best, though, really, 'cause any one could under- 
stand it, but yours was just rhymes and long words, with- 
out any sense that I could see. 

Bert. You little scamp ! Don't you know it's dis- 
honorable to read other folks' letters ? 

Bobby. They weren't letters. They were valentines. 
How was I to know that men were so silly as to write 
letters that way? When I want to get married I shall 
just walk up to the one I want and tell her so. 

Uncle B. Right you are, Bobby. If I'd done so, I'd 
have been a married man all these years, instead of a 
lonely old bach. 

Bert. I believe he's right myself. I'm off to try my 
luck. If she says " No," the whole family will know I'm 
jilted, thanks to my small brother. Wish me good luck, 
mother mine. 

Mrs. W. Indeed I do, my boy. Never fear. If I 
have read Eloise's eyes aright lately, we'll congratulate 
you in the morning. 

(Bert goes out, all the rest calling " Good luck " after 
him. ) 

Evelyn {cornering Bobby). And now we'll probe a 
little deeper. If you don't answer my questions, I shall 
tickle you without mercy. You were behind there when 
Helen and I came in? 

(Bobby hesitates. Evelyn tickles him.) 

Bobby. Stop, Evvie, do stop. Yes, I was there. 

Evelyn. And you changed them when Katy fell, and 
we ran to the kitchen ? 

Bobby. Yes. I knew how you hated Pet, and I 
thought it would be funny to make you send him a valen- 
tine. So, of course, I had to send Helen's to Jack. 



THE CHANGED VALENTINES 



23 



Helen. Of all the mean kids ! 

Evelyn. You see, Helen, I wasn't as mean or as silly 
as you thought, or as Phil thought, either. You may ex- 
plain to him if you choose. 

Helen. Well, I shan't. Any one as fickle as that 
isn't worth it. 

Mrs. W. I'm glad you see it, little daughter. I really 
think that, as so much good has resulted from Bobby's 
playing Cupid, we will have to forgive him this time, but 
he must never do so again. 

Bobby. I won't, Mamma, truly I won't. 

Uncle B. I don't suppose you ought to be paid for a 
naughty trick, but that pony you've wanted so long is 
yours, my boy, next Saturday. 

Mrs. W. No, not for a month, Bertram. Bobby must 
be taught a lesson. 

Bobby. All right, Mamma. I deserve it. But thank 
you, Uncle Bert. You're a brick ! 

Uncle B. And now, little girlie, what do you want? 
A pony, too, or a big dolly ? 

Louise. I want to be the little flower girl. 

Uncle B. So you shall, bless your heart ! And 
Helen and Evelyn shall be bridesmaids. 

Louise. And maybe Eloise'll let me be hers. I'll be 
two flower girls. 

Evelyn. Two weddings ! And one twenty years de- 
layed! Well, I guess there's something doing in this 
family, and all because of Bobby and the changed valen- 
tines ! 



CURTAIN 



A Romance of St. Valentine's 
Day 



In Three Acts 



A Romance of St, Valentine's 
Day 



CHARACTERS 



Pauline, a schoolgirl. 
Polly, her great-aunt. 
Mr. Amos Hill, her aunt's former lover. 



ACT I 

SCENE. — A plain, old-fashioned room. The essential 
piece of furniture is an old-fashioned sewing table, 
what is known as a Martha Washington table, and is 
quite generally imitated to-day. They were small and 
square, with leaves that turned down, and two drawers. 

(Great- Aunt Polly is seated by the table, looking at 
a collection of valentines, post-cards, etc., such as the 
young girl of to-day receives. Pauline is seated a 
little way from her.) 

Aunt P. Very pretty, Pauline, I'm sure, and a great 
many of them for one little schoolgirl. I don't really like 
the post-cards, though, dearie. It doesn't seem just right 
to send a valentine unenclosed. 

Pauline. Oh, it's quite the thing, now, Aunt Polly. 
Everybody does it. 

Aunt P. It's a style I do not care for, my dear. 

Pauline. But it saves money. 

Aunt P. The difference between one cent and two is 
not very wide, is it? 

27 



28 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 

Pauline. No, but when one wants to send a lot it 
means a good deal, unless you are flush — and I never am. 

Aunt P. Send a lot? What do you mean, my dear? 

Pauline. Why, every fellow wants to send one to 
every pretty girl he knows, of course. 

Aunt P. A Christmas card, perhaps, but a valen- 
tine ! That should be for one only, my dear. 

Pauline. How odd! Why, I sent twenty-five, my- 
self, to the nice boys I knew. 

Aunt P. Twenty-five ! Oh, my dear ! You didn't ! 

Pauline. Sure I did! Why not? Is that the way 
they sent them in your day, Auntie? Seems to me they 
were rather narrow. 

Aunt P. No, indeed, my dear, but a valentine meant 
something then. A young man sent but one, and that 
went to the lady of his choice. The girls did not send 
any. We would have thought it immodest. But girls 
do many things to-day that would not have been tolerated 
in my day. A girl, then, was supposed to be a lady. 

Pauline. Instead of a madcap tomboy? Well, I 
plead guilty, and throw myself on the mercy of the court. 
I just love to be a tomboy, and I'm going to be one a long 
time yet. No " one valentine " sentiment for me, or one 
boy, either, for years to come. 

Aunt P. Well, perhaps you are right, yet many of 
my girlhood friends married at sixteen, and nearly all of 
them were married by the time they were twenty, that 
is, of course, those who married at all. 

Pauline. And why didn't you, Auntie dear? Didn't 
you ever like any one well enough ? 

Aunt P. Yes, dearie, I did. I don't suppose any 
woman lives to be thirty without liking some one well 
enough to marry him, if circumstances came about right. 
But there ! They don't always do it. Would you like 
to see my old valentines, Pauline? 

Pauline. Oh, I would, so much, Auntie dear ! 

Aunt P. {opening top drawer of stand). Well, 
dearie, here they are. No post-cards among them. 
Most of them came from the same one, as you see. 
This is the last one he ever sent me. 

Pauline (opening it.) Did he die, Auntie? 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 20, 

Aunt P. No, he didn't die, dear. He's alive still. 
He got angry at me, that's all. Talk of girls getting in a 
huff over nothing ! . Boys aren't far behind, let me tell 
you. 

Pauline. And did he marry? 

Aunt P. No, he is single still. 

Pauline. Then he cared, you see. How romantic! 
Why didn't you try to make up with him ? 

Aunt P. It isn't the lady's place, my dear, to run 
after a man. 

Pauline. Well, I like that ! Well, if ever I'm fond 
of a man, I'll run after him and hold him, if necessary, 
till I know what he was mad at.' Or did you know, 
Auntie ? And was it something that couldn't be made up ? 

Aunt P. Why, I suppose I did know, dearie — but it 
seemed such a slight thing to anger him. My cousin 
came that Valentine's Day. We had been brought up 
almost like brother and sister before I came to this town. 
It was fine sleighing, and he took me over to Wrentham 
for the night. His mother was there, just for the day 
and night, and the young girl whom he was to marry. 
When I came home, next day, I asked my mother for my 
mail. She replied that there wasn't any. " But there 
must have been a valentine," I said. " Amos always 
sends me one." " I know," she answered, " but this year 
he didn't. He called, though, last evening, and seemed 
much put out that you were not here. He went off as 
stiff as a poker." Of course, I thought he must be angry 
because I went sleighing with Timothy, though I thought 
it a bit far-fetched, as we were only old friends, and so 
were Timothy and myself. " But," I thought, " I'll ex- 
plain when he gets over his huff, and it will be all right." 

Pauline. And didn't you? 

Aunt P. No, dear, I hadn't the opportunity. Next 
day his mother came over to tell us that he had gone 
away. She seemed to think I was to blame, somehow, 
and she never was nice to me again, and it was more 
than a year before Amos came back, and then he was 
just coldly polite when we met. That was the end of my 
little romance, dear, for though there were others who 
found me fair, somehow I couldn't seem to care for any 



30 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALE NTINIi's DAY 

of them. You see, dearie, Amos had won my love, 
though he didn't know it, and so (Pauses.) 

Pauline. And he has it yet ! Oh, Auntie, how 
romantic ! And does he live in town still ? 

Aunt P. Yes, but I meet him seldom, and we merely 
say a " How-de-do " in passing. Excuse me, dearie. I 
think I will go up-stairs a few minutes, while you look at 
my old keepsakes. I cannot imagine how I came to let 
you wheedle this old story from me. Please do not refer 
to it again. 

Pauline. No indeed, Auntie. Thank you for tell- 
ing me. (Aunt P. passes out, and Pauline proceeds to 
investigate drawer, soliloquizing as she does so.) Such 
quaint little valentines ! I like them, though ! And 
nearly all in the same handwriting — that of the faithless 
Amos, evidently. Yes, this one is signed A. H. A. H. 
A is Amos, of course. A. H. Could it be Mr. Hill, I 
wonder? " A. Hill," he has it on his sign. He's old, or 
rather old — sixty, I shouldn't wonder, and he's a 
bachelor. I'll bet he's the one! Mean old thing, to 
bring tears to the eyes of my little great-auntie after all 
these years ! (Puts valentines back in drawer, and shuts 
it rather vigorously, letting one drop, unnoticed, to the 
floor.) Men and boys are queer creatures, anyhow. 
I'm glad I'm a girl ! And I'm glad I live now, instead 
of forty years ago. Why, I got more valentines, I do be- 
lieve, to-day, than Aunt Polly has in all her life. Why, 
I dropped one! (Picks it up.) Amos was a little fel- 
low when he sent this, I guess. (Opens it.) No, this is 
from the Timothy who seems to have been the villain in 
the little pastoral comedy. What a cute little verse! 

(Reads.) 

" Dear Polly, though you're far away, 
Think of me on Valentine's Day. 
I wish I could see you, so sweet and prim. 
That's all. Good-bye, from Cousin Tim." 

(Tries to open drawer.) Why, what makes this drawer 
stick so? (Pulls till drawer opens zvith a jerk.) Why, 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE^ DAY 3t 

of all things ! How came that box in there ? It wasn't 
there a minute ago ! It looks like a little drawer. I do 
believe it's a secret drawer, that has somehow fallen 
down! And here — why, I do believe here's another 
valentine from Amos that was never opened. It is sealed 
and addressed, but I don't believe she ever got it. And 
that, I'll bet, made the trouble! I wonder — yes, I will, 
I'll mail it and see what comes of it. I'll call Auntie, first, 
and show her the drawer. No, on second thoughts, I 
won't hurry about that. Here's to mail Amos' last valen- 
tine, and then I'll run down to the office later, when the 
afternoon mail comes in, and get it. Wouldn't it be 
romantic if things came out story-book style, and I was 
the Cupid who had a finger in the pie? (Goes out.) 



CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE.— Office of Mr. Amos Hill. 
(Amos seated in office chair, tipped back, soliloquizing.} 

Amos. Valentine's Day once more! Strange I can't 
get it out of my head! Just forty years since Polly jilted 
me ! Why, I wonder ? I never did understand. I was 
so sure that she cared for me — but there ! Womankind 
is fickle. She never married, though, nor I either, big 
fool that I was ! I couldn't seem to help comparing every 
girl I met with her, and they suffered by comparison, and 
so here I am, a bachelor of sixty, wanting nothing but the 
one thing I never shall have — a wife and home of my 
own. {Puts a card photograph, such as were taken forty 
years ago, back into desk.) There, little Polly, go back 
to your resting-place, while I go back to work and try to 
forget you. {Does not close drawer, but looks up as 
knock is heard.) Eh? What? Come in, whoever you 
are. ( Pauline, enters. ) Polly! {Gazes in surprise at 
her. ) Who in the world are you ? 

Pauline. Oh, I'm Polly, just as you said, though 
most folks call me Pauline. 

Amos. But who are you? I thought 

Pauline. You thought I was Aunt Polly? Do I 
look like her? 

Amos. Is Miss Polly Dennison your aunt? 

Pauline. My great-aunt. 

Amos. Then you're Angie Dennison's girl ? 

Pauline. Yes, I'm Pauline Waldron, and I'm visit- 
ing at Aunt Polly's. 

Amos. But what brings you here ? 

Pauline. I'm playing Cupid. {Catches sight of pic- 

32 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 33 

Hire.) Oh, is that Aunt Polly? What a dear, old-fash- 
ioned little girl ! May I see it closer ? 

Amos (passing it rather reluctantly). Won't you sit 
down ? 

Pauline (seating herself). What a sweet little face! 
How old was she ? 

Amos. Eight, I believe! 

Pauline. What beautiful wavy hair! And so long! 
But what a narrow ribbon she had on top ! 

Amos. Yes, little girls didn't have more ribbon than 
hair in those days. She had fine eyes, too. 

Pauline. Yes, and has yet. But what a queer little 
dress, with its plaited trimmings, and a lace bib! And 
the sash is wide enough to make up for the hair ribbon, 
I'm sure. Oh, do give it to me ! 

Amos (taking it hastily). Certainly not. It's a keep- 
sake. And now, my young lady, you will oblige me by 
forgetting that you have seen it. 

Pauline. Oh, I couldn't forget it, it's so quaint and 
dear ! 

Amos. I don't see as it is so quaint. A dainty little 
girl, in a very pretty frock, I think. Much prettier than 
little girls wear nowadays. Please forget it. 

Pauline. You shouldn't use slang, Mr. Hill. 

Amos. I didn't, I assure you. I only implore that 
you will not mention having seen what was never in- 
tended for your eyes. 

Pauline. I won't, indeed. You liked Aunt Polly, 
then ? 

Amos. Certainly. We were playmates and school- 
mates from that time on. That was taken just after she 
came to this town. You look very like her at your age, 
my dear. 

Pauline. So much so that you called me Polly. 

Amos. Did I ? Excuse me. And now, my dear little 
girl — I mean young lady, what can I do for you ? 

Pauline. Just answer a few questions. This is Val- 
entine's Day; you know, and I've been playing Cupid. 

Amos. Indeed? And what did you wish to ask me? 
If it was ever legal to play Cupid, I think it is on Val- 
entine's Day. 



34 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 



Pauline. If — if any one finds a letter that was evi- 
dently intended to be mailed, and it hasn't been, is it right 
for that person to mail it ? 

Amos. Why, certainly. It's the proper thing to do, 
my dear. 

Pauline. Even if it has been lost a long time? 

Amos. I should think so. You see, you have no right 
to open it, so you would not know the writer, and thus 
could not return it to him, so the only thing to do is to 
mail it. 

Pauline. So I thought. But you see, this one has 
been lost for forty years. 

Amos. Forty years? Are you sure? Perhaps the 
one to whom it was addressed has moved, or is dead. It 
is a long time, my dear. 

Pauline. No, he hasn't, and she isn't, so I mailed it. 
But I think I know the writer. Ought I to tell him about 
it, too? 

Amos. Why, it might be well to do so. It is an un- 
usual occurrence, to get a letter that was written to one 
forty years ago. I think you had better tell me the whole 
story. 

Pauline. I believe I will. I was showing my valen- 
tines to Auntie to-day. Oh, do you know, I believe that 
letter was a valentine. Did you ever lose one? 

Amos. Never. A valentine forty years old will be 
rather stale, I fear. Perhaps the lady — I believe you said 
it was a lady — may have been married for years to some 
other man. She may be a grandmother now, and may 
laugh at the effusion of the callow youth of the olden 
time. 

Pauline. She won't, I'm sure. And she isn't a 
grandmother, for she never married. She has been faith- 
ful to a faithless lover all these years, and I believe that 
lost valentine is at the bottom of the whole trouble. 

Amos. Indeed, just how, may I ask? 

Pauline. Why, he had always sent her one, every 
year, since they were children, but that year he was mad 
about something, and he didn't send her any. That is, 
she has always thought he didn't, but I believe he did, and 
that that's the letter I found to-day. 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 35 

Amos. And where did you find a letter forty years 
old, that had never been mailed? It may cause strange 
misunderstandings now, child. Perhaps it would have 
been better to have asked my advice before you mailed it. 

Pauline. I'm asking it now. Mr. Hill, did you send 
Aunt Polly a valentine forty years ago? Think back 
carefully, and see if you can remember. 

Amos. I can remember quite distinctly, my dear. I 
did send your aunt one that day — the last one I ever sent 
her. I have reason to remember it quite plainly, my dear, 
on account of the answer I received. 

Pauline. The answer? But you couldn't have got 
any answer, for she thinks the last one you sent her was 
forty-one years ago. She never got that other one, so 
how could she answer it? 

Amos. I certainly thought she did, and negatively, at 
that. But — my dear, do you mean that you think you 
have found that letter — that valentine, which I never 
knew had been lost? Where, and how? 

Pauline. Why, Auntie let me see her old valentines, 
and when I'd put them away, I found I had dropped one. 
And the drawer stuck when I tried to open it, and I 
jerked it, and somehow knocked down a little drawer 
that must have been above it, and in it lay the letter I 
told you of. It was addressed to Aunt Polly, and sealed, 
and had a three-cent stamp on it, but it had never been 
opened. 

Amos. Because she didn't care to open it, my dear. 
I happen to know that she got it, for her grandmother 
took it from my hand that morning, and said she would 
give it into her own hand. And you see, she must have 
had it, for it was in her own secret drawer. 

Pauline. I don't think she knew about the drawer. 
And I know she didn't get it, for she told me so to-day, 
and her eyes were full of tears. 

Amos. Polly cried? 

Pauline. Yes. She loved you, I'm sure, and thought 
you were angry with her because she went over to Wren- 
tham with her cousin. 

Amos. With Tim ! Good land, child, I shouldn't have 
been jealous of Tim! But why didn't she explain? 



36 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 

Good gracious ! If she didn't get it, there was nothing 
to explain ! 

Pauline. And you went away next day, and she 
didn't see you for a year. 

Amos. Yes, but — oh, what a hopeless, foolish tangle ! 

And you mailed that letter, child? Has she got it yet? 

.„ Pauline. No, I shall go to the office before I go 

back. Oh, I believe she was going to the milliner's this 

afternoon, so probably she'll get it herself. 

Amos. And she'll read it — for the first time — after 
forty years ! See here, little girl, I'll be over to-night 
for the answer, but don't you tell her I'm coming. 

Pauline. But you never go there. 

Amos. I did once, and I'm coining again. To-night, 
you understand, and I want you to give me a clear coast 
for half an hour or so, will you ? 

Pauline. Of course. 

Amos. Maybe I'm an old fool for my pains, but that 
letter asked her a question — the question, and told her I 
would come that evening for my answer, and I'm coming. 
If she gets it to-day, to-night is the night to call, and I'm 
coming, if I get turned down for my pains. I thought 
she went away to get out of having to say no. And to 
think I wasted forty years ! Well, there's no fool like an 
old fool, and Polly's got to answer that question. Wish 
me luck, little girl. 

Pauline. Indeed I do! And Aunt Polly does care, 
I know. I'm glad I meddled. 

Amos. So am I. Though I can't understand about 
that letter. Going? Well, you look in the office this 
evening, and you'll find the finest valentine this town 
affords, addressed to Cupid. Good-afternoon. 

Pauline. Good-afternoon. 

{Goes out. He takes out the little picture again, and 
gazes at it.) 

Amos. Love is eternal. Love is always young. 
Maybe I'll end my days in a home of my own, after all ! 
Dear little Polly ! 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Same as first scene. Evening. 

(Pauline seated, with some bit of embroidery, or other 
fancy work. Aunt P. is seated, also, as curtain 
rises, but during the conversation moves about a 
good deal, rather nervously.) 

Pauline. What's the matter, Aunt Polly? What 
makes you so restless ? Don't you feel well ? 

Aunt P. Yes, I think so. I — I'm nervous, I think. 

Pauline. I didn't know you were ever nervous, 
Auntie. 

Aunt P. Why, I'm not, as a rule, Pauline. I don't 
know what is the matter, I'm sure.' 

Pauline. Hadn't you better go to bed, Auntie, and 
sleep it off? 

Aunt P. No, I couldn't sleep, I'm sure. 

Pauline. You haven't had bad news, have you ? 

Aunt P. Why, no, dear, not exactly. 

Pauline. Not exactly ? You've had some news then 
that disturbs you? 

Aunt P. Yes, my dear, it is disturbing news, really. 
It's almost as if some one had risen from the dead; and 
I don't understand it, and I don't know what to do or 
say. 

Pauline. Could I help you any, Auntie dear ? 

Aunt P. No, I think not, dearie. I must think it out 
alone. 

Pauline. Do you mind if I run over to Grace's a few 
minutes ? 

Aunt P. Oh, don't, dear, don't. Stay with me. 
Some one might come in. 

Pauline. Are you expecting any one ? 

37 



38 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 

Aunt P. N-no, not exactly. That is — no, of course 
not. 

Pauline. Why, Auntie dear, if you were a young 
girl, I should say you were expecting a visit from your 
young man. 

Aunt P. But as I'm not, but an old woman of fifty- 
eight, you know it can't be any nonsense of that sort. 
Remember, my dear Pauline, I am your great-aunt. 

Pauline. Not so very great, either; just the dearest 
little auntie in the world. And you don't seem a bit old. 
Why, your hair isn't hardly a bit gray. Besides, there 
was Mrs. Atherton, in our home town, was married just 
before I came here, and she was sixty-three. 

Aunt P. She was a widow, dear. 

Pauline. What difference did that make? They 
said that Mr. Buffinton was her first lover, but that her 
father had separated them, and every one was glad to 
see her married. 

Aunt P. Very nice and romantic, dear, but, as I said 
before, she was a widow, and that makes a great deal of 
difference. If she had been a maiden lady, every one 
would have called her silly, and laughed at her. 

Pauline. I don't see why. 

Aunt P. Nor I, dear, truly, but the fact remains that 
they do. It would take quite a strong-minded woman to 
face it. I couldn't, I'm sure. 

Pauline. But, Auntie 

(Stops abruptly, as bell rings.) 

Aunt P. Some one is coming! I 

(Rises, but sits down Hastily, as she hears steps.) 

Amos (entering). Well, Polly, I've come for the an- 
swer to that letter. 

(Pauline slips out.) 

Aunt P. Why, Amos, aren't you a stranger? How 
do you do ? 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 39 

Amos. I'll tell you how I'm going to do. I'm going 
to have an answer to that letter. 

Aunt P. What letter? Do sit down, Amos! You 
make me nervous. 

Amos (seating himself). Well, I've sat down. Now 
how about the answer to that letter? 

Aunt P. That letter? 

Amos. Yes, that letter. It's no use to fence for time, 
Polly. I'm going to have an answer. Didn't you get a 
valentine letter from me to-day ? 

Aunt P. Amos, you never sent that letter to-day. 
It was old. It looked old, and it had a three-cent stamp. 
Three-cent stamps have been out of use thirty years and 
more. 

Amos. Then you did get it? 

Aunt P. Yes, but I don't understand it, and I'm all 
upset about it. It was like a voice from the dead. 

Amos. It was, Polly, a voice from the dead past. 
That letter should have reached you forty years ago. 

Aunt P. Did you write that forty years ago, Amos? 
And why didn't you send it ? Why send it now, after all 
these years? 

Amos. I did send it, dear heart. There's a mystery 
about that letter that we will talk about later. Just now 
I want my answer. 

Aunt P. Your answer, now? 

Amos. Yes, now. Polly, dear, I've waited forty years 
for my answer. Isn't that long enough to keep a man 
waiting? 

, Aunt P. But, Amos, forty years changes things. 
j Amos. It hasn't changed my love for you any. I've 
tried to down it for forty years because I thought I'd got 
my answer. But have that answer I must and will. 

Aunt P. But, Amos 

Amos. Let's go back a bit, Polly. You used to like 
me when we were little playmates, now didn't you ? 

Aunt P. Yes, of course. You were the nicest boy 
I knew. 

Amos. And when we went to the old Academy to- 
gether. You liked me then? 

Aunt P. Why, yes, of course, Amos. 



40 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 

Amos. And if you'd got that letter when you were 
meant to get it, you'd have said yes ; now, wouldn't you ? 

Aunt P. Why 

Amos. You would, Polly, now wouldn't you ? Come, 
own up ; it's forty years past. 

Aunt P. Why, yes. 

Amos. Then you'll say it now. You've just got it, 
and I've come for my answer, as I said I should. Isn't 
it yes, Polly dearest? 

Aunt P. But, Amos, I'm an old woman now. 

Amos. And I'm an old man. I'm sixty. 

Aunt P. I'm sure that isn't old ! For a man, I mean. 

Amos. Then fifty-eight isn't old — for a woman. 
Polly, I've everything but the thing I want most. I've 
no real home. I'm lonesome, dear. I've been lonesome 
for forty years — forty years that the locusts have eaten. 
Must I always be lonely, Polly? 

Aunt P. But think what people would say, Amos. 

Amos. I don't care what people say, Polly. I only 
care for you, and to know that you care. And you do 
care, Polly, I know. Else why have you kept single all 
these years? Besides, if you didn't care, you'd have said 
no and you haven't said it. You've fenced. Polly, you 
did care. Don't you care any longer ? Tell me ! 

Aunt P. Y-yes, Amos, I did care. 

Amos. And you've got over it ? You no longer care ? 
Ah, you can't say no. Say yes, Polly. Forty years is a 
long while to wait for an answer. 

Aunt P. That's it, Amos, those forty years. It looks 
so ridiculous. 

Amos. Ridiculous, nothing ! I'm waiting to hear that 
yes, Polly. And I shan't go home till I hear it. 

Aunt P. Well — yes, then. 

Amos. Oh, Polly, my girl, to think I didn't hear that 
forty years ago ! We've lots of time to make up. 

(Kisses her.) 

Aunt P. Do stop, Amos ; Pauline will be coming in ! 
What will she think? 

Amos. Well, as she is chief- conspirator, she won't be 
surprised, so cheer up, my dear. Pauline ran out to the 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 4I 

post-office. I hear her coming now. (Calls.) Come 
here, you little niece of mine, and congratulate me. 

Pauline (coming in). Is it true, really ? Oh, Auntie 
dear, I am so glad! (Kisses her, then goes to Amos and 
kisses him.) Thank you, Uncle Amos that is to be, for 
my lovely valentine. And I'm glad you got the right 
answer. 

Aunt P. Pauline ! Did you know ? 

Amos. Didn't I tell you she was chief conspirator? 
She brought it all about. You shall be bridesmaid, Polly 
girl, and choose what you please for a gift. 

Pauline. That will be lovely. When is it to be? 

Amos. Soon. 

Aunt P. Oh, no, not very soon. 

Amos. Yes, soon, very soon. Good land, Polly, isn't 
forty years long enough? 

Aunt P. But what had you to do with this, Pauline ? 
And where has that letter been all these years ? 

Pauline. Why, you see, Auntie, when I put the old 
valentines away I dropped one, and when I tried to open 
the drawer it stuck. I jerked it hard, to open it, and 

when it opened (Opens drawer.) Look! That's 

what I saw, and the letter was on top. 

Aunt P. Why, how did that box come there? It 
looks like a drawer. 

Amos (pulling the drawer oat, and looking in). It 
was, Polly, a secret drawer, just above this one. Evi- 
dently this had to be taken entirely out to reach it, but 
one support has come loose, so it dropped into the other 
drawer. 

Aunt P. (taking secret drawer in her lap). I never 
knew there was a secret drawer in this table. Why, 
Amos ! They're Grandmother's things ! The ones we 
never could find ! Here's her gold beads, and her gold 
thimble, and Grandpa's watch, and — this was Uncle 
Robert's little shoe — he died, you know, when he was a 
year old — and this box is full of hair — Father's curls, I 
do believe ! That's all. No. (Lifts paper in bottom of 
drawer.) This is her marriage certificate! We knew 
there was a secret drawer in the desk, where she kept 
money. She showed that to Father about a year before 



42 A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 

she died. But this — and how did my valentine get 
there? How did Grandma get it before it was mailed? 

Amos. That's plain enough. She ran in that morning 
to show Mother a new patch-work pattern. The letter 
lay on the desk, and she chaffed me about it. Then she 
offered to play Cupid, and put it into your own hand. 
Thinking you would get it earlier that way, I consented. 
So when I called that night, and you were not at home, I 
thought it wasa kind way of saying no, and went away 
to get over it. I couldn't, though, and came back a year 
later, as you know. But why your grandmother didn't 
give it to you, I don't see. She was always a woman to 
trust. 

Aunt P. I understand that part of it. When she 
got home I had gone with Tim, and it was that night 
she had a shock, Amos. She never spoke again, and died 
a week later. 

Amos. And if I hadn't run away on the first train 
the next morning I would have known it, and might have 
mistrusted that you didn't get it ! Oh, the years that the 
locusts have eaten ! That was one of her own expres- 
sions, you remember. 

Aunt P. But why didn't you bring the letter to me, 
Pauline, instead of to Amos? 

Pauline. I didn't give it to either, Auntie. I mailed 
it. If I'd given it to you, you'd have read it, and cried 
over it, and treasured it, but you'd never have let — Uncle 
Amos- — see it or know of it, now would you? 

Aunt P. Not at this late day. It would have been 
equivalent to a proposal from me. But I would always 
have treasured the thought that he did love me,' after 
all. That I had not given my love unsought, something 
which has shamed me to myself all these years. 

Pauline. And if I had given it to you," Mr. Hill 

Amos. Uncle Amos is good enough, Polly girl. 

Pauline. If. I had given it to }^ou, Uncle Amos, 
would you have mailed it ? 

Amos. No, I should have thought it too late. 

Pauline. So you see I did the best possible thing, 
and the letter reached the right one, and the result is all 
I hoped for. 



A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE S DAY 43 

Aunt P. But how did you know about it, Amos? 

Amos. Oh, the mischievous Cupid came and told me 
after she had mailed it, so 

Aunt P. So you thought I'd expect you? 

Amos. No, I didn't. But the chance was too good to 
let slide. I'd never had an answer after all, and I came 
for it, as I said I would. I got it, too, just the answer I 
wanted. T isn't every man who has to wait forty years 
for his answer. And now, Pauline, what is the shortest 
time required to rig up a wedding gown ? A week ? 

Aunt P. A week ! The idea ! 

Amos. I'm talking to little Polly. Isn't a week long 
enough ? 

Pauline. I think you'd better give her two. 

Amos. Two it is, then, and not a minute longer.- 
Order your rig out, little girl, the nicest and prettiest you 
can find, and I'll pay for it. You deserve it. And you're 
to be our adopted daughter, and spend every minute your 
parents can spare you with us. We'll have a motor, 
childie, and anything else we want, and Polly and I will 
do our best to make up the forty years we have lost. 

Pauline. Oh, I'm so glad I did it! I didn't hardly 
dare ! It sounds like a romance. 

Aunt P. It is ! To think of a lost valentine turning 
up after forty years ! 



CURTAIN 



The Oueen of Hearts 



The Queen of Hearts 






CHARACTERS 



The Queen of Hearts. 

Her Maidens, eight girls. 

St. Valentine. 

His Attendants, eight boys. 

Little Sir Cupid. 

The Fairy. 

The Queen's Pages, two small girls. 

St. Valentine's Pages, two small boys. 



COSTUMES 

Dress the Queen in a white robe, cut like a Grecian 
robe, with flowing sleeves. It has a border of golden 
hearts, cut from gold paper. She has a girdle of heavy 
gold cord, with a heart at each end, also a tiara of 
lighter gold cord, surmounted by a heart of gold. She 
carries a sceptre of gold, surmounted by a heart. Choose 
a pretty girl for the part. 

Her Maidens are in pale blue and silver. The dresses 
are made from crepe paper, with double skirts, full 
waists, and large sashes. The waists have Dutch necks 
and short puffed sleeves. Trim the neck, sleeves and 
both skirts with silver tinsel. The stockings may be blue 
or white, the slippers white or black. The hair should 
be flowing, held back from the face with a band of blue, 
edged with the silver, tied in a bow at the side, little silver 
hearts dangling from the ends of the bow. On the 
upper skirt, or tunic, is a row of silver hearts. Each 

47 



48 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 

carries a scarf or ribbon about two yards long, and four 
or five inches wide. These may be of some sheeny 
lining material. Point the ends, and hang a silver heart 
from each end, and from the centre. When the scarfs 
are not in use, they are thrown over the head, and 
hang down, in front, over the shoulders. They may be 
blue, to match the costume, or pink, of a shade that will 
harmonize with the blue. 

St. Valentine wears a long, white robe, girded with 
red and decorated with red hearts. He has a long white 
beard, easily removable, also a red cap or hood, to which 
is sewed long white hair. He carries a large, handsome 
valentine. 

His Attendants wear long red robes, girded with 
white. Each carries a valentine. 

His Pages are two tiny boys, in white robes, with red 
girdles. All these robes should be so fashioned that 
they may be quickly and easily thrown off. Underneath 
all are dressed in court costumes, of red and white — long 
hose, puffed trunks, doublet or tunic, belted in, and 
puffed sleeves. 

The Queen's Pages are tiny girls in white, fluffy 
dresses. One has a big sash and hair ribbon of pink, 
also stockings to match. The other has them of blue. 
They have also bows at the shoulders, with short loops, 
and long ends. The blue ribbon has golden hearts at- 
tached to the ends ; the pink one has silver hearts. 

The Fairy is all in fluffy white. Her dress is made 
of mosquito netting, very short and full, with a full 
empire waist. White ribbons of varying lengths hang 
from the folded girdle, also from a band which encircles 
the low, round neck. To each of these ribbons is fastened 
a tiny silver bell. The sleeves are merely deep ruffles, 
cut in points, to each of which is sewed a bell. The slip- 
pers have rosettes, with the bells. Around the head is a 
white band, to the lower side of which the little bells are 
fastened. To the centre of this, in front, is fastened a 
silver star. . Her wand is white, with a silver star at 
the end. Below the star are several streamers, with the 
bells. 

Cupid is a tiny boy ; in a short, scant slip of pale pink. 



THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 49 

over very short white trousers or trunks — short enough 
not to show. The slip is cut straight, with low neck 
and no sleeves. A drapery of white mosquito netting, 
passing over left shoulder, and under right arm, nearly 
covering slip, gives a fleecy, cloud-like effect. He has 
little wings of pale pink, and wears no shoes nor stock- 
ings. He carries a little silver bow and a golden arrow. 
A quiver holding two or three more arrows may be 
slung from his right shoulder, and hang at his left side. 

SCENE. — The Palace of Hearts. The throne, in the 
centre background, is a chair, set upon a raised dais, 
the whole draped with purple. Upon the floor, in the 
centre of the space left before the throne, draw a large 
circle. Divide it into eight parts, by lines crossing at 
centre. Draw a smaller circle inside the other, having 
for a radius one-third the radius of the larger circle. 
The little drill or dance by the Queen's Maidens is 
done on this diagram. Deck background with gold 
hearts. 

(Curtain rises on Maidens, standing at either side of 
throne, baskets of flowers in their hands.) 

First Maiden. 

Oh, where is the Queen ? Why so long delay ? 
She should not be late on her natal day. 

Second Maiden. 

Hark ! She is coming ! We ready must be 
To join the procession, and bow the knee. 

(Maidens pass to entrance, form double line, between 
which the Queen, her Pages holding up the court 
train, passes. The Maidens then fall into line, two 
and two, behind them. The procession should pass 
entirely around platform, and to c. back. Then, 
while the Queen and Pages pass down one side, to 
c. front, the Maidens pass down c. and form aisle 
to throne, up which the Queen passes. When she 
reaches the throne, she seats herself, the little Pages 
seating themselves on the dais, on either side. 
Maidens arrange themselves on either side, and 



50 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 

sing " Hail to the Queen." The music is that of 
" Little Stars " in " Festive Songs for Little 
Singers.") 

HAIL TO THE QUEEN 

All hail 1 to her, our lovely Queen, the fairest in the land. 
We joy to be her Maidens true, before her throne to stand. 
We welcome 2 her with glad accord, to her we bow 3 the 

knee. 
Our hearts 4 are hers in love and truth, and evermore 

shall be. 

Chorus 

Hail 5 to our fair Queen! Hail to our fair Queen! 
Hail 6 to our fair Queen! The lovely Queen of Hearts. 

(Rise during interlude.) 

On this, our Queen's own natal day, we've sought in 

fairest bow'rs, 
And bring, 7 as birthday offerings, these baskets of fair 

flow'rs. 
We're bound to her with links of love — with Love's own 

silver chain. 
Yes, we are hers in love and truth. Long 8 may she live 

and reign. 

Chorus 
Queen. 

Thank you, my maids. They are offerings rare. 

Never were blossoms more sweet and fair. 

But I somehow am sad on my natal day. 

Third Maiden. 

We will dance, to drive dull care away. 

{Motions) 
I — Baskets in left hands. Raise right hand high. 2 — Right hand 
out, toward Queen. 3 — Sink on one knee. 4 — Right hand on heart. 
5 — Wave right hand high, through line. 6 — Raise right hand high as 
possible, hold through line. 7 — Hold baskets, in right hands, out toward 
Queen. 8 — Raise baskets high, in right hand. In singing second chorus, 
they do not kneel. At 5, swing baskets, high, through line. At 6, raise 
them high to right. Hold to end of line. At close of song, they march 
in front of throne, and lay baskets on lower step of dais, leaving room for 
Queen to step from throne. 



The qulen of hearts 
DANCE OF THE MAIDENS 



51 



(The music should be joyous and rather quick, the 
step a light, tripping one. Refer to diagram.) 




Fig. 1. Meet in front of throne, and form single line. 
March down to A. First girl passes down line to E. 
Next girl passes to O, then to D ; third girl to O, then to 
F, others to C, G, B and H, all first passing to O. Last 
girl remains at A. During this figure they hold scarfs 
above head in both hands. 

Fig. 2. Each girl tosses end of scarf to next girl. 
March entirely around circle. 

Fig. 3. Face centre, raise scarfs high, still held as in 
fig. 2, trip sidewise around circle. 

Fig. 4. Recover scarfs. Hold them in both hands, 
right hand high, left low, and march in, along lines, to 
inner circle. March around inner circle, scarfs in right 
hands nearly meeting, high in centre, like spokes of a 
wheel, march back lines to places again. 

Fig. 5. Hold strips high over head, turn around in 
places, once and a half times, bringing faces to centre 
again. 

Fig. 6. Girls at A and E march up lines to meet at O, 
cross scarfs, march around, then march up to J and N, 
where each raises scarf above head, turns completely 



51 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 

around, and then marches on to A and E. Girls at C and 
G repeat this figure, then those at B and F, and lastly 
those at H and D. 

Fig. 7. All march completely around circle, swinging 
scarfs. 

Fig. 8. Girls at A, E, C and G march to inner circle, 
then around it, then halt on J, N, Q and L, and toss ends 
of scarfs to each other. Raise them high. Remaining 
girls march down lines, pass between girls, and march in 
tiny circle inside. They then pass through, between J 
and L, and march in circle outside them, then pass in 
again, between J and L, and wind in and out. Repeat 
this winding, but first girl stop when she reaches R, next 
one on P, third on M and last on K. Toss scarfs, and 
raise. 

Fig. 9. Scarfs so held, all sidestep around this inner 
circle, then lower arms and recover scarfs. Step back- 
ward to places on large circle. 

Fig. 10. Hold scarfs in both hands, dropped easily at 
sides. Turn as if to inarch around circle. First girl 
marches down to J, along inner circle to K, up line to B, 
along outer circle to C, in on line to L, along to M, and 
so on, till she reaches A again. As she passes down first 
line, second girl moves from H to A, next girl from G to 
H, and so on, all moving up one place. As first girl 
moves up second line, girl now at A moves up first line, 
all others moving on one place. As second girl passes 
up second line, third girl moves down first line, and so on. 
Each girl performs the whole figure, which is much easier 
than would appear from description, as each simply fol- 
lows the one ahead of her, keeping the proper distance 
between them. 

Fig. 11. March completely around circle. Then, led 
by girls at A and E, half turning each way, march on 
circle, and up E O and down A O, to centre. Here, 
leaders cross scarfs, march around, then on to C and G. 
Next ones do the same, and so on. 

Fig. 12. March on, on circle, to B and H, marking 
time, to allow all to complete fig. 11; then march down 
lines to F and D, crossing at centre, then on, to places on 
circle. 



THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 53 

Fig. 13. March completely around circle, face centre, 
march in to inner circle. Girls at J and N raise scarfs, 
step to centre, back around each other and to place again. 
Girls at Q and L repeat this ; then girls at R and M ; and 
lastly, those at K and P. March backward to large 
circle. 

Fig. 14. Run in to inner circle, waving scarfs, then 
around inner circle, still waving. 

Fig. 15. Girl at J stands still. Girls at R and K run 
up to B and H, followed by those at Q and L, while one 
at J steps to centre, and those at P and M move up, and 
follow, J and N, stepping to P and M. As each reaches 
B or H, she runs to her place at side of throne, till all are 
in place. 

Queen. 

'Twas very pretty, my maidens fair. 

(A knock is heard.) 

Bluebell, go and see who's there. 

(Page with blue ribbons goes out and steps quickly 
back again.) 

Bluebell. 

I think it's a boy, but he's got wings. 

Queen. 

A fairy, or one of those elfish things? 

Bluebell. 

I really don't know. He's pretty and pink, 
Too little to do any harm, I think. 

Queen. 

Well, say he may enter, but not to stay. 

(Bluebell goes to entrance again, and Cupid skips in.) 

Well, well, little fellow ! Who are you, pray? 

Cupid {bowing low). 

May I tell my tale in song? 
It will not take me very long. 



54 the queen of hearts 

Queen. 

Ay, sing. But tell us who you are, 
And if you've journeyed from afar. 

(Cupid sings. Tune: " The Rill" from "Festive 
Songs for Little Singers.") 

Cupid's Song 
I'm Cupid, brave and wild, 
Half fairy and. half child, 
• I'm dancing here 

And dancing there, 
To greet me, earth has smiled. 
I've wings, on which I fly, 
Up to the sweet blue sky, 
I travel far 
To many a star, 
When no one else is nigh. 

Chorus 
Winging, winging, 
Swift o'er land and sea, 
Singing little songs of love 
Where'er I be. 

With silver bow so true, 

And golden arrow, too, 

I aim my darts 

At people's hearts. 

Look out ! I may shoot you ! 

In earth or worlds above, 

Where'er I may rove, 

The heart, you see, 

Once hit by me, 

Will surely fall in love. 

Chorus 
Queen. 

Methinks you're a mischievous child, indeed. 
Of you, in this court, we have no need, 
For mankind never enters here, 
So none can fall in love, 'tis clear. 



the queen of hearts 55 

Cupid. 

The fair Queen of Hearts should find her a mate. 
To die an old maid is a dreadful fate. 

Queen. 

Not so, Sir Cupid. A virgin to stay, 
Is the fate I wish for, now and alway. 
Besides, I have no mate, you see, 
For no mere man is worthy me. 

Cupid (sings to the tune: "Campbells Are Coming"). 
He's coming, he's coming, ha, ha, ho, ho ! 
He's coming, although you may not think so. 
On Valentine's Day there's a mate for each lassie, 
And one for the fair Queen of Hearts, ho, ho ! 

Queen. 

Now, wee Sir Cupid, please depart. 
Although so small, yet you are male, 
And none of that sex is allowed 
To stay within my kingdom's pale. 

Maidens. 

Oh, he's so pretty and so pink, 
Please, dear Queen, let him stay ! 
He's just a darling baby ! 
With him we'd like to play. 

Cupid. 

Yes, let me stay a while, and rest ! 
I promise to behave my best. 

Queen. 

Well, stay, child. You have winning ways ; 

And with no men-folks here, 

You cannot do much mischief 

With your arrows, that is clear. 

Hark ! Hear that silvery, tinkling sound, 

And that rap, so light and fair, 

It sounds like the touch of a fairy's wand. 

Rosebud, see who is there. 

(Page with pink ribbons goes to door, and returns.) 



56 the queen of hearts 

Rosebud. 

It is no boy this time, fair Queen, 

But the dearest fairy. May she come in? 

Queen. 

Yes, bid her enter. 

(Rosebud goes to door, and Fairy flits in.) 

Lovely fay, 

What seek you in my courts to-day? 

Fairy (sings to the tune: " The Fairies," in "Festive 
Songs for Little Singers "). 

I'm the dainty little fairy 
That's called Tinkle Bell. 
To your court, fair Queen, I flitted 
Just to wish you well. 
It was whispered 'mong the fairies, 
'Twas your natal day, 
So our queen, with happy greetings 
Bade me haste away. 

To the Oueen of Hearts a message ; 
Little Tinkle Bell, 
You must carry very swiftly. 
'Tis a gift as well. 
Tell her that to her I'm sending 
My best gift to-day — 
The best gift in earth or heaven; 
And it's on its way. 

Queen. 

What can it be ? 
Cupid. 

I think I know. 

Fairy (frowning at him, and raising finger in warn- 
ing). 

Nay, impertinent child ! 
How can you think so? 



THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 57 

(Fairy flits about, tinkling bells. She flits up to 
Cupid, and remains by him. While the attention of 
the court is taken up with the next admittance, he 
aims at the heart of the Queen. It is not neces- 
sary to shoot, in fact, he had better not. In each 
case, throughout the play, he merely aims. When- 
ever there is opportunity the Fairy and Cupid whis- 
per together, unnoticed by the rest, and Cupid aims 
at every girl in turn, even the little Pages.) 

Queen. 

Another knock! Who this time? 
Go see, my pages fair. 

{Both Bluebell and Rosebud go, but come, running 
back.) 

Both. 

It's boys ! It's boys ! And an old, old man ! 

Queen. 

Tell them to go away, quick as they can. 

(Pages go to door again, remain a minute or two, then 
return. ) 

Bluebell. 

He says his name's St. Valentine. 

Rosebud. 

He claims this natal day of thine. 

Bluebell. 

He says he of this day is King. 

Rosebud. 

And that he's come a gift to bring. 

Queen. 

Well, bid him enter, but alone, 
Since he this day claims for his own. 

{They go to door again, and return.) 



58 the queen of hearts 

Bluebell. 

He says his attendants must come, too. 
He will not enter, unless they do. 

Queen. 

Then tell him he outside must stay. 



{They go to door and return.) 



Rosebud. 



The old man will not go away. 
He says a gift so fair he brings, 
It's worthy of the wisest Kings 
Or fairest Queens. 

Queen. 

Are they young and fair, 

The attendants that are waiting there? 

Bluebell. 

They look sad and sober. Their robes are queer. 

Queen. 

For a brief space of time they may enter here. 

(Pages go to door again, and return, follozved by St. 
Valentine, his Pages holding the train of his robe. 
The Attendants follow, two and two. He stands 
before throne, his Attendants on either side.) 

Queen. 

I hear you claim to be a King ; 
And that a gift to me you bring. 

St. Val. 

E'en so, fair Queen. St. Valentine 
Am I. This day is surely mine. 

Queen. 

But 'tis my natal day as well. 

St Val. 

Much happiness doth that foretell. 



the queen of hearts 59 

Queen. 

But where is the gift you bring to-day? 

St. Val. 

Tis my heart I bring. Accept it, pray. 
Tis a gift most rare — this that I bring. 
You're Queen of Hearts, but I am King. 

Queen. 

St. Valentine is ages old. 
Though Love's a great gift, I've been told. 
I am too young to mate with thee, 
Though thou best King on earth might be. 

St. Val. 

And if I were not ? Were I young and gay, 
Fair Queen, would you say " no " to-day? 

Queen. 

Why, really, I like thee passing well, 
Though the reason why I could not tell. 
Why, yes. It's a safe little word to say, 
Since you are so old, good saint, to-day. 

St. Val. 

Love can make the heart grow young, and make 

the face grow fair. 
And the Fairy Love stands in thy court with 

Cupid, over there. 

Queen. 

Love ? Why, her name is Tinkle Bell. 

Fairy. 

Fair Queen, my name is Love, as well. 

So, Valentine, shed all disguise, 

And stand forth, young, before her eyes. 

(As she speaks, she touches St. Val., then the Pages, 
then she flits to either side, and touches all the At- 
tendants. As each is touched, he throws off his 
robe, St. Val. shedding cap and whiskers, also. 
These are carried out by the Pages. Have some one 
at entrance to take than.) 



60 the queen of hearts 

Queen. 

Why, can this be St. Valentine ? 

Young, handsome, gallant, straight and fine ? 

St. Val. 

It is, indeed ; and now, fair Queen, 
Thy promise true thou must redeem. 

Queen. 

'Twas won by fraud. Thou wast not true, 
And so I cannot wed with you. 

St. Val. 

It was no fraud, but the power of Love, 
The fairy all other fays above. 

Fairy. 

Fair Queen, he is truly worthy of you. 
He is brave and noble, tender and true. 



Boys (sing to the tune: "Autumn Leaves," in "Fes- 
tive Songs for Little Singers"). 

Noblest King in all the world, St. Valentine ! 

True and tender, brave and good — St. Valentine ! 

Faithful lover will he be, 

True eternally to thee. 

Take the gift he brings to thee. 'Tis divine. 

Share thy royal throne with good St. Valentine. 

Fortunate art thou to have his love as thine. 

With him thou wilt happy be, 

Sorrow never dwell with thee. 

If you're his, fair Queen, you see, and he's thine. . 

Queen. 

Truly thy courtiers love thee well, 
And noble things of thee they tell. 
Truly, my heart inclines to thee, 



the queen of hearts 6l 

St. Val. 

Then give that heart, fair Queen, to me. 
I'll guard it as my greatest treasure, 
And make my trust to seek thy pleasure. 

Queen. 

I yield. Thou takest what is thine own. 
There's room for both upon my throne. 

(Queen moves aside, and St. Val. seats himself be- 
side her. His Pages seat themselves by Bluebell 
and Rosebud, and the Attendants move into place 
beside the Maidens, so that all are in pairs.) 

Cupid (sings, tune as before. At beginning of sixth 
line, Fairy joins in, and they sing rest of verse 
chorus together). 

My aim was good and true ! 
Fair Queen, I aimed at you. 
My golden dart 
Has pierced your heart — 
Those of your maidens, too. 
In earth, or realms above, 
Wherever you may rove, 
Of gifts so fair, 
Both rich and rare, 
The best of all is love. 

Chorus 
Winging, winging, 
Swiftly on our way, 
We brought you this fairest gift, 
Thy natal day. 

Queen. 

~ Ah, Cupid, in mischief thou'rt bound to be ! 
'Twas the opening wedge — admitting thee. 

Cupid. 

Art thou not glad? Tell me, fair Queen. 
Dost wish thou'dst banished me from the scene? 



02 the queen of hearts 

Fairy. 

And the little Fairy, Tinkle Bell? 
Art sorry that she came, as well? 
And all these visitors of thine, 
Including brave St. Valentine ? 

Queen. 

Nay, ye are welcome, every one, 
As well as he who shares my throne. 
Of all fair gifts, from east or west, 
I'm very sure that love is best. 

All (sing to the time: "Easier Day," in "Festive 
Songs for Little Singers"). 

In all the world there's naught so dear, 
There's naught so rich and rare, 
""As this fair gift her natal day 
Brought to our Queen so fair. 
For you may search the whole wide world, 
North, south, or east, or west; 
You ne'er can find a sweeter gift. 
True love is surely best. 

Chorus 
True love is best, 'tis surely best, 
The heart's most earnest call. 
In north or south, in east or west, 
The fairest grift of all ! 



<^ j 



'Tis love that makes the world go round, 
That guides it on its way. 
'Tis love that builds our homes so dear, 
Love that shall live alway ! 
'Tis love that keeps the heart e'er young. 
With us through life 'twill stay; 
And last through all eternity, 
For love must live for aye. 



CURTAIN 



THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 63 

(The curtain should rise again, to show the wedding. 
The Clergyman, in the robes of the Episcopal 
church, waits at the altar, where is also St. Valen- 
tine, his Attendants near. The bridal procession 
should enter at one side of the back, if possible, pass 
dozvn to the front, across to c. front, and up c. to 
altar. Cupid and the Fairy should precede the pro- 
cession; next should come one of the tiny Pages, 
with the ring on a velvet cushion. Bluebell and 
Rosebud follozv, as flower girls, then the Queen, 
follozved by her Maidens, two by two. No change 
is necessary in any of the costumes but to add a long 
veil of mosquito netting to the Queen's costume. 
At the altar, St. Valentine meets her, and they 
arrange themselves as for the ceremony, the Bride 
and Groom kneeling before the Clergyman. The 
curtain may fall on this tableau, or they may rise, 
and march out, to the wedding march, if desired. 
Of course, in this case, the order will be changed 
somewhat.) 



CURTAIN 



JL OP. Pincro's Plays 

Price, SO Cents Eacb 



Min CU ANNFI Plft y in Four Acts - Slx *****», five females. 
IiMI/-vllAlli1*4aj Costumes, modern; scenery, three interiors. 
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THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH S3T SfflK 

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WFFT T AVFNHPP Comedy in Three Acts. Seven males, 
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TUP WPAKTP QPY Comedy in Three Acts. Eight males, 
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A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE SSS£A«EM2: 

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Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Salter %. flatter & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



CONGRESS 




of $ta?s 

f&ri«t 15 €tnt0 <Cadf> 



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INfSflMAR P1 *y In F * ye Acts - Thirteen males, three females. 
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THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 23Sft£SKS2: §32=1 

pioturesque ; scenery varied Plays a full evening. 

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THP ttlVAT ^ Comedy in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. 
1 Illy ni f HW Scenery varied ; costumes of the period. Plays a 
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SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER SEX&ESJFUSZS. 

ried ; costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. 

TWELFTH NIOHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL SSlkfLffi; 

three females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, varied. Plays a 
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Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Salter $♦ TBafeer & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 

S. J. PARKHILL « CO., PRINTERS, BOSTON, U.S.A. 



